Home
by sinistrosblack
Summary: After the events in Washington, Bucky didn't go straight to Romania. He first went home. When broke student Mary LeBrun discovers an unconscious man on her porch, she finds herself yielding to her kindness as she shelters him. But it's just for a few days, right?
1. Mary

**Disclaimer: I don't own Captain America and its characters, and I have no affiliation with Marvel. I have full rights over my original characters.**

 _Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield._

He couldn't believe it, even with the legitimate proofs standing in front of his eyes: the man, Steve Rogers, had said right, and the both of them had been best friends more than 70 years ago. It seemed unbelievable when you thought of it, but he was James Buchanan Barnes, the giant glass portrait couldn't be lying. They were one person.

Bucky Barnes. That name was one of the things he would never forget again.

* * *

"Mary? Can I talk to you for a second?" the landlord, a tall man with piercing green eyes and obvious black hair implants called Edmond Rosane, leaned casually against his apartment door frame, crossing his arms on his chest.

Mary gently dropped her Whole Foods bag and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, smiling sheepishly at Mr. Rosane. Her petite frame made her feel small everywhere she went, as the world from her perspective was but a wide collection of torsos, thus making her very impressionable; the owner of the building made no exception, and the fact that she owed him money each month only added to her fear of encountering him.

"Sure." She managed to say between two skipped heartbeats. "How are you, Edmond?" This was one of his numerous _things_ , making everyone use his first name to appear more chill, relaxed.

"I'm good, thanks. Nice day at school?"

 _Just go straight to the point, old man_ , thought Mary. "Pretty good, yeah."

"There's something I'd like to discuss, Mary, and I think we both know what it is." A million thoughts flashed in Mary's mind, half of them not even slightly related to the landlord, and she internally slapped herself for being so easily distracted while talking to someone.

"Well Edmond, as much as I'd love to stay and play guesses, I have fresh groceries to put away, and..." Mary choked on her words, conscious of her outburst of incivility.

Edmond's face broke into a small, sharky grin for a few seconds, before it went back to its usual stillness.

"Of course, I wouldn't stop you unless it was really important, and I, for one, consider that two months of unpaid rent is rather important. Now, I'm not heartless, and I know how difficult it is to find money for someone your age; I've been young too, once, and I've juggled between jobs to pay my own apartment. Look at me now, I own the building!" He gestured around him, his eyebrows raised as if he was impressed by his own achievement. "Anyway. I'll leave you some more time to pay me back, but I can't press further than four months. If you can't pay me by January, I'll have to throw you out. Understood?"

All the niceness in his voice had disappeared, and Mary immediately understood how much trouble she was in: when Edmond Rosane didn't even bother to put on his fake voice, it showed he wasn't joking anymore. Not that he would ever joke about money, that was the most serious thing in his life.

"Loud and clear, Edmond. I'll... I'll manage, see what I can do." Mary quickly picked up her paper bags and prepared to make a quick exit, but the landlord was clearly not finished.

"Why don't you find a job? I'm sure there's loads of things a young girl like you can do after school, why don't you just try anything? Maybe you could ask your parents for some money."

She remained silent, only shaking her head, and she finally climbed the stairs two by two after biding her elder a good evening. She managed to slip the key out of her pocket and into the keyhole, and sighed in relief as she closed the door behind her. Home, sweet home. After quickly unpacking the few groceries she had previously bought, Mary collapsed in her club armchair and took out her sketchbook, flipping through the many pages already scribbled by her hand, to the commission she had to give at the end of the week. A wealthy family had asked for a watercolor of their spoiled little girl, a novice ballerina, and they were ready to pay good money for it, so Mary couldn't have refused; after all, she was using her talent to put some food on the table, even though it was every once in a while.

She'd always wanted to make a career in animation as a drawing artist, but she needed diplomas and it was very risky to go into those kinds of studies in her economical condition. Every time somebody asked why her family didn't back her up financially, she had to make up a lie, because anything was better than the harsh reality: the people who had raised her hated her to bits, and had sent her across the country to live on her own right after graduation so they wouldn't have to see her again. Some days, Mary felt just like an orphan, which in some ways she was, since her legal guardians -her godfather Larry and his boyfriend Hank, two of the most vicious human beings that roamed the Earth (and _that_ was saying _something_ )- had closed their door in her face a while ago.

With her parents gone while she was just a baby, Larry had had to live up to his role of godfather, but clearly it wasn't what he had signed for when he had accepted his best friends' proposition. Eric and Leslie had died in a back alley a year and a half after the birth of their first and only child, Mary Angela LeBrun, leaving her to the approximate care of Larry Crompton. With hindsight, Mary was still grateful Larry had taken her in, but through the years she would always wonder how it would have been with her parents still alive. Probably better, yet it would comfort her to imagine it could have been worse.

Sighing at the realization that she was daydreaming again, Mary got up to seek her watercolor paints and her brushes, as the best way to stick to the present was to remain busy at all times. But however hard she tried to live in the now, she couldn't escape her past and its mysteries.

Somehow your past always finds you.

* * *

 **Okay, author note right here.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this introduction to my first ever fanfiction,** _ **Home**_ **! I'm very happy that you've found your way to my story, and hope you'll stay with me** _ **-til the end of the line**_ **.**

 **If you enjoyed my content, do tell me in the reviews section, I feed on your commentaries to become better and write more each day.**

 **I don't know where** _ **Home**_ **is going yet, but I really count on your presence along the bumpy way it may take!**

 **Yours faithfully,**

 **SB~**


	2. Going Home

**Disclaimer: I don't own Captain America and its characters, and I have no affiliation with Marvel. I have full rights over my original characters.**

 **A/N: before anything, I'd like to apologize for bringing this update very late. I'd never thought I would get so many positive reactions towards my work, and I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. I'd like to address special thanks to users inperfection, alexma and the kind Guest who took some time to comment my work. It means the world to me.**

* * *

As he was taking in all of this new data of his past, Bucky's mind began to race. He was hearing voices, glimpses of conversations, and he could see images, fragments of a fair, and a train, and a girl twirling with her silky dress, and all of his visions were mingling in his head.

Careful not to draw attention to himself, Bucky went to the restroom, where he locked himself in a stall and sat on the floor, holding his spinning cranium in his left hand. The metal was cool against his burning forehead, but he hated this sensation of relief it brought him: in fact, he hated everything about that cybernetic arm and the casualties he had provoked with it. If it hadn't been for his severed right arm, he would've been able to stop using the prosthesis, once and for all, but for now and until he would be able to function normally again, he had no other choice.

He cursed in Russian as pain shot through his head, massaging his temple to try and rub it away. But suddenly, his mind cleared itself, making way for a single thought which passed like a gush of wind:

153 Shelby Road

Brooklyn New York City

Bucky got up at once as if struck by lightning, and headed straight out of the museum. As soon as he'd left the building, he began running. He would not stop until he'd reached 153 Shelby Road, Brooklyn New York City, and if he dropped dead on the way, so be it.

After all, he was going home.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the landlord had threatened to kick her out, the deadline to her expulsion was drawing nearer and Mary was still jobless and out of money. Her only income had been the 50$ she'd made with her watercolor, and it had all gone into food and a hot sweater. The latter had been the most logical investment Mary could have done, considering the dropping temperatures November had brought, and in anticipation of the heat-less winter she was about to enter. Of course, she was not stupid, and she had tried to find a job like Edmond had suggested: she'd tried everywhere from the most appropriate place to the most unlikely, and she could still hear the bulky men on the docks laughing at her when she had tried to apply for a position of unloader. One of them had even tossed her a fish carcass and rudely told her to go away.

With a heavy heart, she'd finally written a letter to her godfather asking for money, thus burrying the last pieces of pride she had left, but he hadn't even replied. She wasn't very optimistic concerning his potential response, but he would probably agree with the dockers and tell her to handle herself.

A sudden blow of wind hit her face, and Mary sank her chin lower into her scarf, shivering from the cold. She hurried back to her block, eager to return home before the night fell, and she jogged up the stairs in a desperate attempt to warm her body up. However, just as she pulled the apartment keys out of her pocket to unlock the door, something new and unexpected startled her and she gasped loudly. On her downtrodden entrance mat which displayed a yellowish " _Welcome!_ ", laid a motionless man curled up in a ball. He wore black hand-me-downs which he had likely obtained from the Salvation Army, a maroon cap, and had long shaggy hair covering his face.

 _Oh my goodness_ , thought Mary, her heart stomping in her chest, _good God I have a dead hobo on my mat, oh my God why?_ As if she didn't have enough trouble already, now she had to deal with a lifeless tramp which reeked of crass and a death which had probably occurred hours ago. _What do I do, what do I do, why me, God, no._ Mary bent down closer to the man, pinching her nose, and she turned him on his back: he had one hand buried in his pocket, and the other was clutching a backpack. Just as she was leaning closer to check if, after all, the man wasn't breathing, he opened both eyes and stared dead into hers.

The young girl screamed bloody murder at the sudden sight of the man's blue irises, and she tried to make a quick exit before she was yanked down and silenced by a hand over her mouth.

"Don't scream." The man said, his voice low and somehow broken, as if he hadn't uttered a word for a long time. "Please."

At the sound of the man's polite plead, Mary softened under his grip, her breath still quick but more steady. "I'll let you go if you promise not to scream. Ok?" He had a heavy American accent, but also a hint of Russian notes in his voice. She nodded, and he let her go. They both stood up and eyed each other curiously, each of them too stunned to say anything. Mary finally tried to speak, but all of her words came tumbling out of her mouth at the same time, resulting in an incomprehensible blabber.

"What are you- _who_ are- why- you can't- what is going on- _I._.." Sighing deeply, she tried to be as intelligible as possible. "What are you doing here? Do you need... food, or something? Is it too cold outside?"

Bucky was surprised by the kind tone of the girl's voice: he had just assaulted her after giving her the scare of her life, and she was concerning herself with him. He was not used to people caring anymore.

"I just... I'm- this is going to sound weird, but..."

"I just found you sleeping on my doormat, I can handle another shot of weird." This time, she even offered him a smile.

Bucky took a deep breath in. "I think I live here."

There was a span of silence where Mary just stared at the man, speechless and wondering whether to laugh or remain silent.

"Uhm..." she began. "That would be... 'sorta problematic, since I live here. And I have for some time now. I think I would've seen you around, don't you think?"

"I know, it's just... listen doll, I had a really bad ...accident, and i can't remember things really well. One of the only things I remember is this place," he gestured towards the door, "although it was different in my days. This place is the only home I know, and I thought maybe..."

He didn't say anything more, and Mary frowned. He was obviously lying, and yet he seemed sincere at the same time. But taking him in? That was written down in Mary's mind under the things she shouldn't be doing, in first position and underlined four times in bold colors.

"Listen, random guy sleeping on my porch, I would really like to help you but..." As she spoke, she was backing into her apartment, unlocking the door and slowly opening it. "I have problems of my own, and I really can't afford..." Just as she was about to close the door on him, the man blocked it with his hand, producing a strange metallic wheezing.

"Please. You're my only hope."

She looked up to see his imploring blue eyes in the middle of a face contorted with pain and despair, eyebrows knitted together and jaw locked. At this instant, she couldn't help but remember the day she had been kicked out by her godfather. Larry and Hank had packed up the scarce things she owned and put them on the sidewalk, before escorting her to the front door of their cozy house.

 _"Larry, you can't do that to me..."_

 _"Of course I can, I'm doing it right now. Honestly Mary darling, I don't see why you're making such a fuss about this, you're all grown up and it's high time you started emancipating." She could still see the mockery and pleasure in her godfather's eyes as he was discarding himself from her._

 _"Larry, please." She'd pleaded. "You're the only one I have."_

 _"I hope you enjoy yourself in New York, honey." This was the last thing he'd ever told her, before slamming the door shut and locking it._

She didn't know how long she'd fazed out, but she realized she had shut the door on the stranger. A single tear was wetting her cheek, so she quickly wiped it away. Cursing herself for being so responsive to other people's distress, she opened the door again. The scruffy-looking man was still there, sitting miserably in the staircase and still clutching his backpack. Mary silently joined him, smoothing her pants before sitting down. She was very close to him, but curiously he didn't seem to reek so much anymore, leading the girl to think she had imagined all of the previous events.

"Hey, _dude_. You have to realize I'm... very deep in debts, also very much struggling to survive. I can't help everyone who comes knocking on my door with puppy eyes and a tragic backstory." It felt really weird to talk like this to a stranger, especially when the stranger in question was much taller than her, much older and extremely intimidating when you looked at it. "But I'm not heartless. I know what it's like to be alone. When I was alone and hopeless like you, I wished everyday that someone would help, but no one did." The man looked at her intently now, his eyes deprived of pity but full of understanding. "If I can make a difference for someone, I will do it. So why don't you come in, have a bath and tell me your story around a good cup of coffee? I have the feeling you have a lot to talk about, big guy."

"Bucky." The other mumbled as she was getting up. "My name is Bucky."

"Nice to meet you, Bucky. I'm Mary"

* * *

 **At last, here is the first chapter of _Home_ : I really hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please let me know by commenting, adding me to your favorites and following me and _Home_.**

 **Yours faithfully,**

 **SB~**


	3. A Better Place

**Disclaimer: I don't own Captain America and its chaaracters, and have no affiliation with Marvel. I have full rights over my original characters.**

Sitting on the small kitchen counter while the water boiled in the kettle, Mary thought about the situation she had just put herself into: from where she was, she could hear the man she had just welcomed pacing around the living room, probably looking at everything. She had just done something completely mad, which was not usual for the thoughtful person she was, and she didn't know how to solve the many problems her actions had provoked. The phone was within hand reach, she could call the police on him immediately and everything would be settled as if it had never happened, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not when he'd looked at her as if she were the only person left on Earth, not after she had seen the distress in his eyes and pictured herself in his shoes, desperate and alone.

The kettle clicked, signalling the water was ready to go, and Mary hopped off the counter to pour some in each mug, changing the instant powder into a hot cup of cheap black coffee. She rummaged into her cupboards and found an old packet of off-brand Madeira cake which was long past the due date, and put it on the tray with the mugs. Balancing the best she could, she brought everything to the living room, where she found the man looking at her picture shelf; it was dusty, and only held two pictures, merely one of them under glass.

"They're my parents, Eric and Leslie." She pointed to the laughing couple on the picture after putting down the tray. "They were scientists. They wanted to change the world, like any good people would, you know what I mean?" Taking the picture-frame, she blew some air on it to remove the layer of dust.

"Where are they now?" asked Bucky, turning his attention to the girl.

"They're dead." she bitterly stated, putting the object back on the shelf. If there was something Bucky was good at, it was reading people like open books, and Mary made no exception: he knew she still felt sad about it, but that she bottled her grief up.

"I'm sorry." She shrugged at his apology, faking carelessness.

"It's okay. It was a while ago, you know, and I never knew them that much. When I miss them, I just miss the idea I made myself of them, but maybe they wouldn't have lived up to my expectations. Maybe I'm better off here, on my own." Her statements were full of venom, but her face showed she didn't mean a word of it, and it was clear she missed them dearly every day that went by. However, it was also clear that the subject was very touchy, and Bucky thought it wise not to linger on it.

"And what is this?" He asked, taking the other picture in his left hand and coughing to cover the sound that came from his arm. It was a picture printed in black and white on plain paper, of what looked like a villa.

"That's the Pixar studios. It's where I hope to work one day, so I printed a picture of the place to remind myself where I'm going." A light blush seemed to creep on the girl's face. "I think it's important to know where you're going in life, or you can get yourself lost... and end up on someone's _doormat_." She chuckled lightly, but Bucky lowered his head, putting the picture back on the shelf and coughing once more. "I think you owe me some explanations, Bucky. About you, about your obnoxious coughing, and your backpack-" she trailed off, seizing the said backpack. In a matter of seconds, she was pressed against the wall, held on the throat by an extremely strong grip, and looked in horror at her assailant. As she dropped the backpack, he let her go and she gasped loudly to regain some air in her lungs. As he bent down the snatch the bag from her, she started hitting his shoulders repeatedly, made completely hysterical by the attack.

"What- is -wrong -with- you?!" She said with each blow. "How dare you attack me when I'm folding myself in four for you? I don't even know you! For all I know, I could've left you out there to starve and die of cold, and I'm still wondering why I let you in there in the first place!" As she shrieked, she distanced herself from Bucky, who was bent in shame, accepting each strike as legitimate punishment.

"I'm sorry, kid..." he managed to articulate. "Old... habits."

 _Habits?_ Mary couldn't believe what she was hearing: what was he, an ancient fist fighter?

"Now you're going to sit down right this instant, and tell me why on Earth you're so aggressive over a backpack!" She was trying to sound intimidating, but to a six feet wardrobe-shaped man it was probably worth a laugh, especially since she was on the verge of tears. But at the same time, so was he, so that made them even.

"You... you don't want me to go?" He asked, his voice but a faint cracking sound. He was clutching his bag close to him, and his other hand hung limply on his side.

"How could I?" From this moment on, the tears started multiplying on Mary's cheeks. "They'll eat you up alive, on the streets- not that you can't defend yourself, but you're... so damaged. I can't let you let you fall even lower, I can't let it happen to anyone." Years of repressed sentiments began to escape her heart in an uncontrollable cry, and it became unclear as to whether she was talking to Bucky or to herself anymore. Seeing the young girl like this only encouraged Bucky to let go of his own emotions, and if he was more discreet than her, the feelings were just as strong. If anyone had entered the room at this very instant, it would have been a very bizarre sight to them: a young woman and a grown up man both leaning on a wall of the room and crying their eyes and hearts out like children; no one could understand their pain better than they did, and it was mainly why Mary had wanted Bucky to stay. She had known that he was as damaged as her, and that he was the only one capable of understanding her and eventually, helping her fix herself.

After they both ran out of tears, they remained in their positions, as if moving would trigger more crying or complaining, and stayed this way for more than ten minutes, silent. Bucky was he first one to rise, and he even let down his bag to give a hand to his young host:

"Now that we're done weeping like babies, I suggest we act like adults and discuss our problems. Is that good for you?" Mary snorted disgracefully as she nodded, and got up with Bucky's help. Once again, a metallic sound was heard, but just as the young girl opened her mouth to ask about it, his owner protested. "I'll tell you everything about it, if you promise you won't freak out."

"I don't know if I can promise anything like this right now. But I'll try."

"You might want to sit down." He warned her. When she took a seat and eagerly watched him, Bucky felt anxiety rise up in his throat: she was going to freak out and understand something was definitely wrong with him. She'd throw him out. Call the police on him. Or the army.

"So what is so terrible that you're dreading to show me?" She asked, growing impatient. He slowly removed his gloves and lifted up his left sleeve with the help of his teeth, as his other arm was down-and-out. A ray of light caught Bucky's bare metallic arm and reflected right into Mary's eyes, and she shielded herself from it; in spite of her eyes contorted by pain, her face did not show any fear, or disgust, or anything similar that the soldier had expected to see. In truth, she appeared to be mesmerized by the prosthesis, and when he moved it a bit and the different pieces clicked in place, she gasped softly in wonder.

"Bucky... it's- I don't know if it's appropriated for a prosthesis but- it's really... beautiful." The young student held a hesitant hand towards it. "Can I-" To which Bucky granted her the right to touch his arm. She felt the metal with the tip of her fingers, completely absorbed in every technical detail of it. "I never knew they made such amazing stuff; who made it?"

"A special... laboratory. Can't remember the name, though." _Hydra_.

"I hope it's not too indiscreet, but... what happened to you?" Asked the other, retracting her hand to divert it to her cup of coffee. She handed the other to Bucky.

"Train accident. I was in the army some time ago, and during a mission I... fell off a moving train, onto a mountain. According to the people who found me, my arm was too severed to stay in place, so they chopped everything off and... here I am." He casually sipped from his mug, as if he hadn't just said he experienced a terrible accident and lived to tell about it.

"So you were in the army, eh? I understand now why you look so worn out. Why'd you quit though?" Realizing how hungry she was and assuming Bucky was even more than her, Mary cut two large pieces in the once spongy cake, which today was drier than Nevada. Dunk in the dishwater she dared call coffee, it was good to eat, and since she had skipped several meals she wasn't about to play hard to satisfy.

"I'll be honest with you, my fall has greatly damaged my head, and I keep losing track of things... details... from what I remember, I was on the streets not long after my fall. But it could have been years, and I may have not realized. There have been years when I wasn't truly myself, and it feels like... my mind didn't belong to me in those times." He drank some more coffee, trying not to stare at the cake too indiscreetly, but Mary caught his hungry eyes and moved the plate closer to him. "I can't remember anything before my accident. It's like nothing happened before this point."

"You can take as much as you want, you know." The corner of his lips curled very faintly, which was probably the closest thing to a smile he was able to manage at the moment. As he took hold of the food, Mary sat further into her chair, folding her legs in a comfortable position. "I see what you mean, when you say you weren't truly yourself."

"I'm not sure you fully understand exactly what I mean, Mary."

"Bucky, please. If you think you're the only one in this room who's been at rock bottom, you're gravely mistaken. Now of course, it isn't a contest of who's been more miserable, but I've seen some things. I've lived some things. Things I wish to nobody." With this, she propped her elbows on her legs and rested her head in her hands, exhaling deeply.

An awkward silence settled, the only sounds heard being Bucky's soft chews and the occasional sips.

"Anyway. I remember you told me you lived here. How did you remember this?"

"I'm not really sure, but I think I met an old friend, and since then things have been coming back to me. Flashes- snippets, here and there." He waved his metallic hand in the air as an illustration of the flashbacks. "First I remembered who I was, then my old address. Nothing since then."

"You didn't remember who you were?"Mary almost screamed in surprise, swallowing her coffee hard.

"Not before my friend told me. I was... _no one_."

The girl sank into deep thoughts, then suddenly got up and trotted to her library, removing a large volume from it.

"You know, I used to be really interested into everything that touches to the memory, and I still have a lot of books on it. Do you know Freud? He studied the human mind and memory, and he talked about a hidden memory: something we have inside us, but that we never acknowledge. It is very deep in our mind, and sometimes we stumble upon something, and Tadah! it appears to us, clear as the day!"

"What's your point here, doll?" She was talking very fast, evidently really interested in his memory and the pathological problems he was presenting.

"What I mean to say is this." She sat back down, approaching her chair closer to Bucky's and putting down the book. "I don't think you've forgotten anything. It's either in there-" She pointed her finger to his forehead, "or in there." She put her hand over his heart. "Your past life is still in you, Bucky. You just need to trigger it to come back to the surface."

"But I don't know how to do that..." He hung his head low, sighing.

"I'll help you. I'm your only hope, remember?" Mary replied, winking playfully and handing him the book. "Until then, you should read this. Who knows, it might help."

"You don't have to do all this..."

Mary smiled, and looked in the direction of her parents' picture. "I'll make your world a better place."

* * *

 **Aaaand, here's another chapter of Home for you lovely readers! The reactions towards Home are more numerous each passing chapter, and it makes me very happy that you enjoy my content and keep coming for more. I'll address this chapter's special thanks to** **Everatruexx** **and** **aandm20** **for commenting on the last chapter: leave yours in the comments section to be acknowledged in the next update, tell me what you think, and as always, favorite and follow me.**

 **Yours faithfully,**

 **~SB**


	4. Traumatised

**Disclaimer: I don't own Captain America and its characters, and I have no affiliation with Marvel. I have full rights over my original characters.**

As she brushed her teeth after eating a light breakfast, Mary's mind drifted once again to Bucky. He was such a mysterious character, in the way he had appeared to her and the way he acted by her side. It was as if he was rediscovering everything after losing it all: his passage in the army might've damaged him more than average, and the army had simply gotten rid of him without further help. It was unfortunately more than common to find veterans living on the streets, as an ill way to thank them for their service. Mary always offered them a smile and wished them a good day, because she barely had more than them. She would've given them the world if she was able to do so; her good heart had always been something Mary worked to abolish. It was idiotic to be nice to everyone when the world was a cruel and ruthless place, and there was no place for sympathetic young women like her. But today she was able to help one of them, and she would not let go until he was better.

Bucky was roaming around the living room once more, sometimes muttering to himself. He wouldn't touch anything, just looking intensely at everything. Mary hadn't asked, but he would probably not remember his own age. He looked around 35, although his tired face and dark circles around the eyes, and his bushy hair and scruffy beard probably added more years to the man. It was devastating to think that a young man of his age would be broken for life, and understandable -when you saw the state he was in- that most of them committed suicide.

Mary finished her daily toilette routine, and fetched her bag in her room, heading for the entrance.

"Bucky?" she called. He appeared at the door, his eyes wide open and attentive. "I have to leave for school, I'll come back a bit late. Will you be okay on your own? Or do you need me to call you during the day?"

He seemed a bit lost at the idea of being phoned, but he shook his head. "I'll be okay, thank you."

"Okay. Why don't you read the book I gave you?" she smiled. "It should keep you busy for today. You know how to read, don't you?" she asked silently.

"Of course I do." He didn't sound as annoyed as he should have from the bold question.

"Good. Okay, I'll see you later then. Have a good day!" She locked the door behind her. He would probably not want to leave after begging her to let him in, so he shouldn't mind. As it was a bit past her usual leaving time, Mary trotted all the way to the university so she wouldn't be late for her first class, intro to 3D modeling.

Mary didn't have the money to attend college, but she attended most of the classes as a free listener: she could listen to the lectures, but wasn't able to take the final exams. She kept telling herself that what she did was useful, that she was only taking some advance for when she would be able to pay for her scholarship, but deep inside she knew she would never be able to afford even one semester.

On the other hand, she was willing to spend money she didn't have on people she didn't know. Once more, Bucky haunted her thoughts, and it was the case for the entire day, as she caught herself doodling his face half-mindlessly on the corners of her notes. She still wondered who he really was, as he remained very mysterious to her with the whole memory loss thing and his incapacity to reveal much details. She hoped her Freud books would help him somehow. They hadn't helped her remember her parents in the slightest, but maybe they would be efficient on Bucky. It was the least he deserved after his lifetime of trouble, and the only thing she could do to help him, apart from giving him a roof and food. Speaking of which, she only planned to give for a week or two, after which she would help him find a place in a specialized center: there was only so much she could do, and her means couldn't stretch indefinitely. And there was also this January deadline, after which she would need a place in a center for homeless people too. Shuddering at the thought, she preferred to concentrate on her lesson rather than overthinking things as usual. After her last class, Mary went to the school library to use the computers and put what she had learned in application. Most students were wealthy enough to own computers at home, and therefore had no use of the library's old PCs. She was able to stay until the closing hours without being interrupted, and packed her stuff when the librarian warned her that she was closing the doors. It was already dark outside when Mary started walking home, her stomach aching a bit from the fear of the dark and of the silence: her neighborhood wasn't exactly dangerous, but it wasn't the safest place in New York either. In the years she had lived there, she'd heard gunshots in her street several times, there had been drugs deals done in her staircase, and the neighbors themselves had occasionally been arrested for possession or use of different drugs. Mary couldn't say she had ever been bothered personally by any of these events, but it didn't help her to feel safe on her own. Maybe it explained why she had been so easy on Bucky, willing to open her door for him like she had done: maybe it wasn't for him at all, but for her to have protection from a strong man.

Knocking on the door to warn him of her arrival so he wouldn't be afraid, Mary unlocked the door and entered. "I'm back!" she announced, removing her shoes and coat. "Bucky?" she called in the apartment. His voice was heard from the living room, where he sat at the exact same place she'd left him in the morning.

"Did you stay here all day?" she asked, raising her eyebrows, to which he looked at his seat and got up.

"No, I did not." She noticed the book she'd recommended resting on the floor next to his seat, closed. Following her gaze, he saw it too. "I read it. It was very interesting, thank you." Bending on his knees, he picked it up and gave it to the young girl. She put it back in its place on the shelf, taking away the next volume and realizing how big the books really were.

"You're a very fast reader, aren't you?" she stated happily, trying to shift the mood a bit. "I mean, it's quite a volume, and you read it in a day! That's really impressive!"

"I didn't have anything to do, so I had all the time to read it," he shrugged," And besides, it was truly interesting, so I didn't feel like putting it down if I could."

If I could? "You know, when I said you had to read it, it was a suggestion and not an order. You could've put it down and continued later, after you'd… oh my God, did you even eat?"

He shook his head, and she gasped. "You must be starving! Why didn't you- oh, I know. It's okay, I'll make a lot of pasta for us tonight; is that okay?" He nodded, and followed her to the kitchenette. He hadn't done anything all day because he'd been too polite to use and touch anything, all because she had forgotten to mention he was free to do as he pleased! It was a bit exaggerated, but Mary couldn't judge his sense of consideration and respect of privacy and property which were impressive to say the least. The pasta was ready in a matter of minutes, and the two of them ate in silence until they were full. When they were done, Mary went to wash the dishes and Bucky just walked around the apartment, looking at the things he'd probably seen already.

"You can use the bathroom if you want, Bucky," said Mary, and he nodded. "Wait, I'll give you some stuff." She went to get a towel and handed it to him, indicating him the way to the bathroom. Not that the apartment was that big, but he didn't seem really well. But almost 30 minutes after having sent him for a shower and not having heard any water drop, she decided to go back and check on him. He was just sitting on the toilet, staring at the void.

"Is everything okay Bucky?" the young girl crouched in front of him. "Why won't you take a shower?" He just shook his head negatively. "Is there a problem? With the water?"

Just as she said that, she realized her mistake. He'd told her that he had fallen off a moving train, and he must have had landed in the water to survive. Any water pouring over him logically triggered stress, leaving him shaking and afraid like he was at this very moment. "It's the fall, isn't?" He nodded, and she softly sighed, getting up. "It's okay, it's fine, you don't have to take a shower. I'll get a bucket and a washcloth, you can just clean yourself like that. Stay here." She went to get the bucket and the washcloth. PTSD was something she'd yet never encountered, and she had to admit it was more fascinating than she would ever care to admit: his disorder made Bucky unable to perform a simple everyday task, imagine what it could do to others!

When she handed him the bucket full of water, he seemed pretty opposed to it, but he complied anyway.

"I'll help you this time, if you want." He shook his head, so she left the him in the bathroom, spying from behind the door in the eventuality of a relapse. When he removed his shirt, Mary felt a blush creep to her cheeks: for a homeless man, Bucky sure was surprisingly ripped! What had he been up to in his previous life to built himself such a body? The whole thing had just got even more mysterious to the young girl, and her desire to learn more was further reinforced.

 **A/N: *nervous laugh* so it's been a year since my last update, uh... I really hope you liked it and didn't need to re-read the whole thing to remember whatever had happened before... thank you for your presence, I'm doing my best not to let you all down. Hang in there.**

 **Yours faithfully,**

 **~SB**


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